My closet is a cauldron,
My laundry hamper, to be precise,
Seethes,
Yesterdays underwear escaping the rim,
Yesterday's Right Guard and Avon, flying through the air.
It reminds me that what I was yesterday is alive,
What I touched and postured and changed,
Changes on without my nature,
Lives without my will to cause
The darkness of the waiting space
The brightness of the clothing's colors.